“Selling drugs.”
She mimicked slapping herself on the forehead. “Well duh, Earle! That’s why you shouldn’t sell drugs.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” he croaked.
She braced her hands on her hips, feeling like maybe if she scolded Earle just so, he might change his ways. “And why’s that?”
“I had to afford drugs.”
“Oh, you just had to?”
“Yeah,” he said exasperatedly, his mouth hanging open on the end vowel. “Because I’m an addict.”
Earle was a tough egg to crack. Personal responsibility clearly didn’t come naturally to him. “And whose fault is that?” She raised an eyebrow like checkmate and waited for him to admit logical defeat.
“I dunno, probably my uncle who used to make me shoot up black tar heroin at knifepoint when I was twelve.”
Jessica took a quick half step back. “Oh, holy shit. Earle. That’s …”
“Enough to earn me more than”—he dumped the contents of his cup into his palm—“two cents and a Canadian penny?”
“I swear didn’t know it was Canadian,” she said. “I would give you a dollar, but I don’t have any cash.”
“Oh boy,” he said, licking his cracked lips. “I could live like a king on a dollar!”
She narrowed her eyes. “Uh, okay, you know what? You’re acting a little entitled, and I’m not sure it suits your cause.”
“Thanks for the tip. Now I got a tip I’d like to give you.” He grabbed the stiff crotch of his pants.
“Ew. I’m sorry your uncle is literally evil, but I got to go.” She scurried off.
She had more pressing matters today than conversing with an incredibly difficult homeless man with a horrifically tragic story that, in all honesty warranted her sympathy.
But that last comment. Jesus.
YET AGAIN, COMPREHENDING MULTIPLE EMOTIONS PROVES TOO COMPLICATED FOR THE DAUGHTER OF GOD.
You are not seriously narrating my life to me right now.
AS SHE WALKED DOWN FIFTH STREET, FRESH URINE SOAKING INTO THE TOE OF HER RIGHT BOOT …
Wait, what?
She glanced down at her foot. “God dammit.”
… SHE WONDERED, YET AGAIN, IF SHE WAS MAKING THE RIGHT DECISION THIS MORNING.
Get out of my thoughts, and I already know I’m making the right decision. It couldn’t be more obvious. I have to do this for myself.
Something about Jimmy’s visit with the check preceding the news that he would very likely end up as one of the most powerful people in the state lit a fire underneath Jessica’s ass to get out there and make the money herself. Even if it took a while, she needed to be doing something. Inaction was no longer an option. Opening another food truck was likely the smarter route, but until she could ensure that it didn’t get burned to the ground, too, she just didn’t want to go there. It was too easy to burn a trailer.
When I get my own storefront, I’m gonna install so many cameras, even Magda Masterson’s head will spin.
Starting another food truck, though … no, the grief was still too fresh. It would be a classic case of “fool me once …”
According to Dr. Bell, the minimum she needed before she could get the ball rolling and shop for locations was thirty-five thousand dollars. That would make for a lean opening, though, so she was shooting for forty-four. The extra nine grand would help her afford a state-of-the-art security system that included floodlights, an alarm system throughout, half a dozen security cameras, and remote control bars that would lower down over the doors and windows with the touch of a button. The bakery would open only once it was equipped to moonlight as a goddamn fortress.
Working at a coffee shop wasn’t a far cry from working at a bakery. She intended to serve coffee at her shop, and Bat-Ass Brew always had a few stale bran muffins sitting forlornly in a glass display case.
Since she’d never held a job before, she decided to be realistic about her skills and what level of work she could and couldn’t get. She wondered if she could get a job interning in a company that would put her business skills to use, but apparently, no one paid interns, which negated the entire purpose.
Forty-four thousand dollars. It wouldn’t be hard, considering she didn’t pay rent and could always open another credit card to buy groceries on until her business started making money. Regardless of what Dr. Bell said, Jessica was sure she could find a way to make that in a year, tops. If one job wasn’t enough for it, she’d work two.
And by then Jimmy will be in control of the energy sector and who knows what new ways he’ll find to ruin my plans.
She couldn’t think like that. If she didn’t want to wait a year, she’d just have to get a third job. Or become Austin’s best barista. And perhaps part of her hoped that God would send in a few incredible tippers, but she refused to fully acknowledge that hope.
As she walked in, the skunky smell of coffee assaulted her, but she leaned into it. This would be her smell for the next year at least. She needed to embrace it.
“Hey, Rebel,” she said as she approached the counter.
“Sup, boo.”
“I noticed y’all are hiring, and I want to fill out an application.”
As his eyes scanned her lecherously from head to toe, he nodded sharply. “Rad. Picking up a second gig?” He reached underneath the counter and pulled out a paper application before grabbing a pen from a coffee mug full of beans and pens, and sliding that and the application toward her.
“No. A first gig.”
“But you’re always in here working on … I dunno, sexy business stuff. You look real serious, like some hot lady boss. Figured you were one of those slacker billionaires.”
She blinked to reset her brain. “You thought I was a slacker billionaire who needed a second job?”
He bounced his shoulders. “I don’t pretend to understand billionaires. I’m glad you’re applying, though. I’ve been checking you out from afar. It’ll be nice to work up close with you.”
She paused in writing her street address, seriously reconsidered handing over that sensitive information to someone like Rebel, and glared up at him. “Excuse me?”
“Your energy is just bangin’ like nothing I’ve ever seen.” He leaned back, framing her up with his hands, presumably trying to spot the best angle from which to sexually harass her. “You’ve got a super crazy, reflective aura around you.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake. You?”
“Me what?”
She snatched up the application and pen. “I’m gonna go sit at a table and fill out the rest of this.”
She sat and reconsidered whether she wanted to work at a place with an angel who apparently had no filter and was a little dense. If Chris ever met Rebel, she was sure it wouldn’t end well.
Wait, did angels fight each other? That didn’t seem like a thing.
I bet the Bible talks about this.
Nope, still not reading it.
She filled out the application, waited until Rebel was busy with a customer, then did a walk-by drop off on her way out.
If Jimmy Dean wasn’t going to keep her from reaching her goals, neither was Rebel.
But damn, did she really have to work with that guy? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe she should just apply for a small loan. Surely forty-four grand wasn’t that hard to get. Hell, the federal government had offered her way more for college without her even asking. They’d practically tried to trick her into taking it. Maybe her insistence on earning the rest the hard way was just another self-imposed obstacle to keep from shooting for her dream. After all, failing sucks, but when the people you care most about have scrounged up two hundred thousand dollars for your goal, “suck” doesn’t even come close to how failure feels.
Would God let her business fail?
That depends on the point he’s trying to prove that day.
The tip of her shoe caught on something on the ground, and she was forced to take a quick, long step to keep fr
om falling face first onto the sidewalk outside Bat-Ass Brew. Looking down at the pavement, she spotted what had caused it: a fat, brown leather wallet, which was now five feet ahead of her. She grabbed it and stared at it for a moment before deciding the temporary breach of privacy would be forgiven if she could find an ID and return it to its owner.
But when she opened the wallet, no ID was immediately visible. In fact, the wallet was empty except for the thick stack of bills tucked inside. She peeked at it and saw that, yes, those were hundred dollar bills. Easily twenty of them. But taking them out to count in the middle of the sidewalk was perhaps the most clear-cut example of “asking for it,” that anyone could concoct.
She wasn’t a fool. This had God’s name written all over it. Well, literally, if she counted His name on the currency. But also figuratively. Although, God was rarely subtle, and had He put this wallet in her path, she would’ve assumed it contained forty-four thousand dollars in it, not two thousand or so. Was He getting sneakier or was this good luck?
Maybe it was a coincidence. And maybe, because there was no way to identify the owner, she had a right to keep it. Two grand was no chump change and might shave a couple weeks off her time working a crappy job for minimum wage.
When she opened the wallet again, using her body to shield it from view of anyone who might walk past, she ran her finger over the edge of the bills and that’s when she saw it.
The scratch-off. The Ultimate Answer! Win up to $42k!
“Of course.” She pulled up the maps on her phone and typed in police station. Perhaps the owner of the wallet might find the lotto ticket a dud, but a couple grand cash was a couple grand cash.
The police station was a fifteen-minute walk, but the early December air wasn’t too chilly, and it was a clear day, so she happily started on the route.
The phone buzzed in her hand, and she glanced down to see Chris calling.
“Hey there,” she said.
“Hey, Hermione. How’s your day?” he replied, referencing the previous night’s dream in a sad attempt at a British accent.
She giggled. “Oh, fine. Better now that I can hear your voice, Neville.” She paused, debating whether to tell him about her job application, but something held her back. “God just tempted me again, so I’m heading to the police station now.”
Chris broke character. “You’re reporting God to the police?”
“No, I’m … well, I guess in a way, yeah. I’m returning a lost wallet that I assume he pickpocket-ed from some poor soul. What’s up with you?”
“I got big news.”
Yeah, that made sense. Chris hated the phone, preferring texting. She should have known something was up. “Spill it.”
“I was invited to the NFL combine.”
“Wow. I vaguely understand that’s a good thing!”
“Jess, it means I’m going to be drafted! I mean, as long as I don’t totally screw it up or injure myself or … oh God, I feel sick.”
She tucked the wallet under her armpit as she headed east toward the station. “Breathe, Chris. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
“Did your dad tell you that?”
“Yes,” she lied. “Just now. He said he wouldn’t let anything ruin your career before it even started. He loves watching you play.” She grimaced at her own dishonesty.
Chris sighed heavily. “You always say He’s kind of a dick, but I dunno, Jess. He has our back when it counts, you know?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Oh! And there’s more good news! Both the Cowboys and the Texans are in desperate need of a QB. The Texans are looking for a starter, so I don’t know what the odds are of them picking me over, say, Willie Frank Epstein. But the Cowboys are looking for a rookie backup, and I know for a fact I’m their style of QB. In that case, I would make bank and get to stay in Texas. Granted, it would be up by Dallas, but I’d take it since it would be an easy weekend trip to come see you.”
“And more importantly,” she added, “all your childhood dreams would come true.”
“Well, yeah, there’s that, too. I mean, the Cowboys, Jessica! America’s Team! I’d be following in the footsteps of greats like Troy Aikman, Roger Staubach—”
Ooo! She had this! It was one of the few pro football things she’d learned it through Texan osmosis: “Tony Romo.”
“No, no. Greats, Jess. But you’re getting better at talking football in general.”
She turned the corner and spotted the police station across the street. “I’m so happy for you, Chris. When will you know for sure?”
“Not until the actual draft. Things can change, though. I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”
“Then there’s no point in worrying about it now. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
There was silence on the other end, then Chris rasped, “I love you, Jess.”
Oh no, was he about to cry?
Change the subject.
“Did you hear about Jimmy’s latest move?” she asked.
“No. Douchebag’s still not dead yet?”
“Unfortunately no. But he is running for Texas Railroad Commissioner.”
Chris chuckled. “Great. There are a lot of railroads in this state. Sounds like a boring job to me, but maybe that’ll keep him busy and out of your hair.”
Damn it. Jeremy was right. No one had a clue. She considered explaining the actual significance of the job to Chris, but decided now wasn’t the time. No point putting a crimp in his celebration.
“Yeah, maybe so,” she replied. “Hey, I just got to the police station, so I’m gonna return this wallet before someone jumps me.”
He laughed. “Right. Gotta watch your back in Austin. You know, because it’s so dangerous.”
“I know, I know …” They exchanged sappy goodbyes and then Jess crossed the street toward the station.
The lobby was well lit but sparse. A group of three male officers gathered by a door leading through the glass partition, one talking animatedly and acting out what Jessica assumed was a recent call, while the other two laughed along.
The woman in full police uniform sitting behind the partition looked up from the newspaper sudoku only when Jessica cleared her throat. A small nameplate on the desk indicated she was speaking to Ofc. Tambreshia Valencia.
“Yes, ma’am? Can I help you?”
“I found this wallet on the street and wanted to get it back to its owner.” She set the wallet on the counter and slid it in the hollowed out hemisphere beneath the glass.
Without reaching for it, the woman asked, “Did you see an ID in it?”
“No, ma’am. I couldn’t find anything to help identify an owner.”
Officer Valencia inspected Jessica skeptically, then pulled the wallet out and opened it up. Her tired eyes shot wide. “Oh wow. That’s a lot of money.”
“Yeah. And there’s a lottery ticket, too, but it’s probably a dud.”
“They usually are,” the woman responded offhandedly. “These things are basically a poor tax. Don’t get me started.” She set the wallet back down and swiveled in her chair to face a computer to her left. “What’s your name?”
“Jessica McCloud.”
“Date of birth?”
“July seventh—”
The woman swiveled back quickly, squinting at Jessica’s face. “Wait a minute. Don’t I know you?”
Jessica searched her memory, but she was pretty sure any encounter with a cop would pop right up, and none did. “Not that I remember.”
Officer Valencia pointed at her. “No.” She waggled her finger, a grin spreading across her lips. “No, I do know you. My daughter follows you on Twitter. She loves you. Jessica Christ, right? That’s your stage name?”
“It’s not a stage name, but—”
“Ahh yes, it’s all coming back to me. TheRealMcCloud, that’s your Twitter handle, right?”
Laughing uncomfortably, Jessica nodded.
“You gonna tweet about this?”
“We
ll, I don’t actually do the—” No, Cash wouldn’t be okay with her admitting that. “Yes, I’ll probably tweet about it.”
When Officer Valencia stared at her patiently and expectantly, Jessica took the hint and pulled out her phone. “Drafting a tweet right now.”
She pulled open her ongoing conversation with Cash. The last message was from them and read, For the love of God, please go do something outdoors and send me a pic.
She hadn’t done that, but maybe a story about returning a found wallet would do. She shot off a message and then looked back up at Tambreshia, who was still waiting patiently.
“All done. So, um, will that wallet make it back to its owner?”
“Oh, heavens no, child.” The officer chuckled. “I mean, maybe if someone comes in here looking for a wallet with a bunch of hundred dollar bills and a”—she peeked inside—“an Ultimate Answer scratch-off, we’ll be able to make the match, but my guess is that anyone with this many big bills who’s also buying tickets isn’t the type of person used to getting money in any legal way. Probably someone who doesn’t generally see eye-to-eye with the law.”
“Ah. Okay.” God had done it again. Not only was He offering Jessica a way to her dream, He was also likely taking money from a criminal who had earned it through shady dealings. Probably a human trafficker or something. Damn, He was good at this. She had to hand it to Him, He really was the Ultimate Multitasker.
Officer Valencia leaned forward. “I was wondering why anyone in their right mind would bring in an unidentifiable wallet full of cash, but this makes sense.” She fumbled with it and it fell back into the hemisphere drop box. “Oops.” She nodded at the computer screen. “I haven’t entered in this report yet if you, you know.” Her eyes moved to the wallet, now within Jessica’s reach.
It took a second, but then it sank in. “Oh. No. No, I really don’t want it.”
The woman stuck her lips out and nodded slowly, her whole body rocking slightly in her chair. “Nice. Maybe you’re the real deal after all. Or at least close enough to call it. Hey, do you mind if I get a picture with you? My daughter thinks I’m a hardass, and it would go a long way if I could show you and I are, you know, cool with each other.”
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